


You Are Beloved.

by shieldslut



Series: Sledgefu Week! [1]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Day One, M/M, Sledgefu Week 2019, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-15 23:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18679468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldslut/pseuds/shieldslut
Summary: As soon as Eugene stops obsessing over the idea of his soulmate, he finds him.





	You Are Beloved.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first time writing for this fandom, so I hope it's decent! I tried to incorporate a little of the "first time," prompt as well as the obvious soulmates AU, so hopefully that comes across!
> 
> I'm @ameliwrites on tumblr, so please feel free to say hi on there as well!
> 
> xxx,
> 
> Ameli
> 
> p.s. the title is from Beloved, by Mumford and Sons, so give it a listen, if you want!

For as long as he could remember, Eugene had been enthralled by the perfect golden thumbprint stamped on his Mother’s wrist, and the corresponding one that balanced on the curve of his Father’s jaw. 

From the time he had been old enough to make such demands, Eugene had insisted upon hearing the story of his parent’s first meeting every night, before bed. Smiling indulgently, his Mother would oblige, recounting the exact moment when his Father had taken her hand to press a kiss to the back of it, and the exact replica of his thumbprint that had imprinted itself where it first made contact with her pale skin. She would speak about how she had unthinkingly reached out to touch his face in the same moment, marking him in turn. 

His favorite part of the story, though, was always hearing the unadulterated awe in his Mother’s voice, as she lovingly spoke of the initial soft, blushy pink of the mark, indicative of the absolute awe and joy they felt in that exact moment, and how it had developed into a vibrant, shining gold, as their relationship grew. 

Eugene would often stare at his own wrists, or idly inspect the curve of his jaw in he mirror, and long for the touch of his own soulmate, for the mark that her touch would inevitably leave. He would experimentally press his thumb into his own flesh, imagining that it was his soulmate leaving her mark, imagining that it would one day shine as brightly as his parent’s did. 

When he was nine, and just barely too old for his Mother’s stories, he grew fascinated with the way that Charlotte Montgomery’s tightly curled pigtails bounced as she ran, and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed when her fingers brushed against the back of his hand, and left nothing behind but a blush, high on his cheekbones. 

When he was fifteen, and beginning to question the mental image of his soulmate being a sweet blonde girl with sunshine in her smile, a part of him began to wish that four-year-old Sid Phillips would’ve left his thumbprint on the back of his hand when he offered to share his wooden truck in the pre-school sand pit. 

When he was nineteen, and the allure of joining the marines outweighed the worries of his parents- thoughts of his soulmate, whoever he may be, were buried beneath the fear of the very real possibility that he wouldn’t return home in one piece.

In fact, his soulmate is pushed out of his mind entirely, until he locks eyes with one Snafu Shelton. 

The interaction with the other man is entirely unpleasant, but as De L’Eau leads him and the other recruits to find a bunk, he couldn’t quite forget the way the sunlight had glinted off of the other man’s hair, and the mirth that lingered in his pale eyes.

Even as he was, quite literally, up to his elbows in an oil drum, scrubbing until his muscles ached, he couldn’t truly bring himself to mind, since he at least got to see the other man smile, however mockingly it may be, and hear his drawling laugh, and soak up the lingering tones of his voice.

In the moments when he was fully honest with himself, he suspected that he could listen to Snafu speak for forever. Even if it meant scrubbing out oil drums for as long as he lived, he would do it just so that he could experience the thick, sweetly honeyed accent he so enjoyed. 

When they landed at Peleliu, and the sounds of tanks and bombs and gunshots become nearly overwhelming, Snafu is an anchoring presence at his side, a silent force preventing him from doing his best to tuck tail and run. Some part of him wonders if the other man feels the same, as he isn’t more than a yard away from him at all times, after they land, becoming a sort of slinking shadow at Eugene’s side.

Then, as they’re running across the airfield, panting, and misted in God-only-knows-who’s blood, the subject of his soulmate’s identity is pushed thoroughly, and irrevocably, to the forefront of his mind. 

Because one second, Snafu was _there_ , less than a yard away from Eugene, as he had been for the last week, and the next, there was an bone rattlingly loud boom, and he was _gone_.

Eugene’s heart nearly stopped, and, for a fleeting second, he could only think that his father was right, and the murmur was finally catching up to him- but then, he glanced to his left, and saw Snafu, who had been thrown from the force of the explosion, sprawled on his back, wide eyes staring, shocked, at the smoke-filled sky, and it was like his body was jolted back into motion.

Unthinkingly, he turned to Snafu, and grabbed him by his hand, hauling him to his feet with enough force to nearly topple the both of them. 

At the time, he thought nothing of it, he merely submitted to the instinctive urge to _save Snafu_ , no matter the cost- but then, as he tugged harder at the other man’s hand, urging him into motion, it felt like his hand was on _fire_.

Snafu shook loose of Eugene’s grasp as soon as the two of them were once again moving, and if it weren’t for the increasingly heavy gunfire raining down upon him, he could’ve looked down and seen, amidst the dirt and grime and whatever else, the perfect, blood red replica of Eugene’s thumbprint, smack dab in the middle of the back of his right hand. 

And if Eugene hadn’t been so solely focused on ensuring the both of them made it to some semblance of safety, he wouldn’t’ve ignored the rush of heat that threatened to overwhelm him, and he could’ve glanced down and seen the mark he had longed for his whole life, the red of Snafu’s thumbprint astoundingly bright, at the center of his left palm. 

As it was, neither of them noticed, until they cleared the airfield, and hunkered down the best they could.

Snafu didn’t notice at all, some part of his brain embracing a willing ignorance, until Eugene, shaking like a leaf, grasped his hand once more.

Eugene had decided that, despite the Jap’s best attempt at poisoning the sorry excuse for a water source, it had to be decently sanitary enough to wash off the first layer of grime that coated his pale hands. He wasn’t quite used to the conditions yet, and the idea of another man’s blood caked under his nails was nearly enough to cause the reappearance of the little food he had been lucky enough to eat.

So, late at night, when the other’s were either asleep or on watch, with the exception of Snafu, who was half sitting, half laying, against a destroyed hunk of concrete, cigarette dangling lazily from his mouth, Eugene scampered over the half standing remains of the building they had nested in, and did his best to clean up a bit. 

As he inspected his hands in the hazy glow of the moon, he began to scrub half-frantically at what he thought was some poor bastard’s blood, caked in the palm of his hand. After enough scrubbing to turn the surrounding skin pink, he realized with a nearly heart-stopping jolt, that it wasn’t blood at all, it was a _thumbprint_.

He clambered back over the ruins impossibly quickly, appearing suddenly, pale and ghost like, next to Snafu. 

Eugene crouched down next to him, heart racing, blood trembling in his veins, and before the other had time to do more than quirk an eyebrow questioningly, he reached out and grabbed his right hand, and for the second time that day, pressed his thumb down.

It was like fire was pouring into his blood stream, lightning crackling along his spine, and he could suddenly hardly remember a time when his senses had been attuned to anything except _Snafu_. 

Snafu, for his part, quickly abandoned any false act of nonchalance, sitting bolt upright, and tossing the barely burning ember of his cigarette to the side. 

Before he could even begin to fully process the feeling of the ocean surging along his skin, like waves crashing outwards from where Eugene had placed his thumb, he was pulling, tightening his hand-hold on the other, _pulling_ , until Eugene had no choice but to fall forward, nearly throwing himself into Snafu’s arms.

They wrapped their arms tightly around one another, close enough that any onlooker would have had a hard time telling where one man ended, and the other began. They sat like that in silence, for a while, content to just be as near to the other as physically possible, nearly brought to tears at the thought that, no matter how downright filthy this war would get, at least they had found each other, their fabled other halves, their dreamed of perfect matches. 

When they finally broke their embrace, it was only to reposition themselves, Eugene straddling Snafu’s lap, hands intertwined in the space between them, thumbs pressed to the marks that showed the world just what they had found in each other. 

They spoke only whispered words of reassurance, and irrefutably sincere promises that, no matter what this God-awful war threw at them, they would one day see that mark, bright red with the fear and adrenalin that was rushing through them when it was formed, turn into an endlessly beautiful shade of gold.


End file.
